I’ve forgotten what I like to do.
For three months, I worked 70 hours per week. In my free moments, I gobbled red wine and ice cream in a desperate attempt at instantly gratifiable pleasure. I was a stressed out ghost with a sugar rush.
Then, I went home for two weeks. Six hours in a plane and I transformed from hectic career woman (no time for make-up, no time for clothes that fit, no time for food beyond simple sugars, no time for friendship beyond the soul-crush of social media) to family vacationer. O hai, people who have known me since before I was born. Fancy seeing you here!
Questions were asked, and weren’t. How could I explain ten months of growing and learning on the other side of destiny manifested, ten months tenuously connected through Facebook, blog confessions and sporadic phone calls? So I filled my usual role and mostly listened. And ate. Visiting home felt like a constantly narrated food tour. Remember bagels? Remember wings?
I learned a lot of things about myself in that space that was both so different and so familiar. Like, as social and extroverted as I am, I definitely need my alone time to gather my thoughts and recharge. And, I often turn to eating and drinking in situations when I’m so fekkin bored.
Now I’m back in Seattle, another place that is both different and familiar, working a normal number of hours and struggling to occupy myself. Here I am now, entertain me!